Soul Music
by Bookworm Gal
Summary: A worried mother comes to Dresden, afraid there was something supernatural is following her young daughter. Naturally, he agrees to check and see if there was anything scary going on. What he discovers when the child walks through his door is nothing close to what he's expecting. It seems the universe loves tossing the weirder cases at him.


**Okay, I'll admit it. I absolutely love "The Dresden Files." The book series especially is wonderful and exciting. Especially the Dinosaur Incident (and if you don't know what that is, go read the series right **_**now**_**). And the television, though short-lived, held quite a bit of potential and should have lasted longer. The books, however, were better in almost every way than the show. But that's to be expected. Books are almost always better than their later adaptations to movies or televisions series. There is, however, one aspect that I enjoyed far more in the show.**

**Bob. As amusing as he is in the books, he is far more intriguing to me as a ghost on the television show. I love the interactions between him and Harry. I've been bouncing around various "what if" and other ideas of what could have been if the series continued. And most of them tend to eventually come back to developing the world out more and examining ghosts specifically in the show. There was one episode dealing with another ghost (the second episode) and the book series certainly came up with some detailed rules for them (especially shown in "Ghost Story"), but the television series is obviously an alternate universe than the books with different rules and there's still plenty of room for growth.**

**I do not own "The Dresden Files," regardless of whether they're the books or the television series. That honor goes to Jim Butcher. Go buy his books. I also borrowed the title from Terry Pratchett's "Discworld" series.**

Soul Music

"I don't know why I'm even here," she admitted, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. "This was a crazy idea, but I'm at the end of my rope."

Harry wasn't all that surprised to hear that. Unless someone already knew about magic or happened to be named "Murphy", most of his clients who came to him for help tended to be out of options. If you're willing to go to a guy who is listed in the yellow pages as a wizard, you tend to be desperate enough to try anything by that point. Or they just want some entertainment for their child's birthday party and didn't want a clown.

The woman, short brown hair and wearing a uniform that suggested both that she was employed at a rather expensive restaurant and was on her break from work, certainly didn't look like she was happy about being there. She kept staring at the cup of tea he'd offered her, as if she would find some type of answers floating in the brown liquid. On the bright side, she didn't look upset enough to be in mortal danger. She looked pretty with her faintly-olive skin and her light-brown eyes, but definitely not so pretty that she'd attract the attention of something excessively deadly. Maybe this would be one of those nice, short, non-life-threatening jobs that didn't end with everyone being in danger of dying.

He could be optimistic, after all.

"Why don't you start at the beginning, Mrs. Reynold," he suggested carefully.

Closing her eyes, she sighed loudly before answering, "I don't know where the beginning really is. I guess that would be about four years ago."

Her hands gently rolled the cup between her palms, her eyes flickering around the room. The odd assortment of items and texts, tossed together in a chaotic mess that made his office seem more like a junk store at times, didn't seem to help her confidence in coming. Maybe she didn't like admitting that she was at a consultation with a wizard and the various artifacts that he owned certainly demonstrated his profession. After all, how many other jobs have scrolls covered with rather unusual symbols hanging next to the door and a new shipment of tracking crystals on the desk that he'd not put away yet? Some customers feel better if he and his office look the part of a wizard. Others simply feel worse.

"Before that, my daughter generally spent her time at her grandmother's home while I was working," she explained carefully. "My husband's mother was always there to help, even after Terry died. I'll be the first to admit that I wasn't able to spend as much time with Lucy as I wanted during those first few years because of work. It might have started much earlier, but four years ago is when I first noticed it. That was around the time her grandmother died and I started keeping a closer eye on her."

She paused again, practically rolling her eyes in frustration. Harry let her take her time to get to the point. He'd dealt with uncomfortable customers before. If they were desperate enough to put aside their skepticism to show up, they'll eventually get to what their problem is. He was getting mildly concerned since she mentioned a daughter. Saying that he wasn't a fan of kids in some kind of trouble would be an extreme understatement. Putting women and children in danger was generally the best way to get his full and undivided attention.

But he didn't know if the girl was in trouble yet. Her mother was concerned, not afraid for her child's safety. He needed more information first.

"She was five years old at the time. I just thought she was talking to imaginary friends. She was a kid and that's what they do," Mrs. Reynold remarked. "Of course, she was usually _singing_ to them rather than just talking. She loves to sing or hum all the time. I suggested she join the school choir when she got a little older, but she keeps refusing." She shook her head, "Anyway, I was trying to be a supportive parent and started asking her about her 'friends.' It was only a few months after her grandmother's death, which didn't seem to bother her overly-much on the surface. I guess I should have been suspicious of that, but I was just too happy that Lucy was coping so well. I don't know what I expected when I asked her about her imaginary friends, but…"

"What?" he prompted.

"Can you imagine a sweet, five year old girl with blond hair looking at you innocently with her big blue eyes and describing how she'd been talking to a woman who drowned in the river, a man who died in a shootout, and a teenager who was buried alive by his girlfriend after getting drunk?" She shook her head, "I couldn't even imagine where those ideas would pop into her head. She was _five_. I took her to a therapist and his big theory was that it was some kind of response to her grandmother's death. It was her way of coping with the idea of death and loss. But he assured that she would grow out of it."

"But she didn't?"

"No, it didn't. If anything, it got worse in some ways. She kept going to therapy, even though it was a strain on my paycheck. It didn't do anything to help. She kept talking to and singing to people who aren't there, even as she got older. Watching a nine year old chatting casually towards empty air is beyond concerning. Her therapist has been trying for the last year or so to convince me to take her to a specialist to see if this might be something that can be treated with medication. I don't think she sings to her 'friends' during the sessions or he would have suggested it sooner. And while I don't want to consider the idea that Lucy might be completely crazy, I'm worried about her. I was about to take him up on his offer, but…" She shook her head sharply, almost jostling the tea out of the cup. "I don't know what happened, but I _saw_ something."

Leaning forward slightly, Harry asked, "What? What did you see?"

He knew it would have to be something rather strange to change her decision from gaining medical help for her daughter to seeking out the advice of a wizard. It would have to be something that couldn't be explained by normal means. And that was his specialty.

"I… I don't know what it was. She was in her room, humming and singing something. I thought she was alone. She _was_ alone. I went in there to ask her what she wanted for dinner. It was my night off, so I thought of making something special. But when I poked my head in, there was… _something_ there. A shape or a fog or _something_. I don't know what." Her words were becoming more frantic and were spilling out faster. "It was just floating there, right next to Lucy as she worked on her homework. And when it reached out towards her, I shouted her name. She stopped singing and looked at me in surprise, as if _I_ was the strange thing about the situation. The thing faded away a few seconds later, but Lucy wouldn't tell me what it was. She just told me not to worry about it. But it was there. I _saw_ it and it wasn't normal. And she was singing to it, just like she sings to her imaginary friends. I think they're the same thing, that she's been in contact with that fog thing for four years. I don't know what to do. I don't know if something is after her or if she's possessed by something or if our apartment's just built on some kind of cursed plot of land. Whatever that thing is, it has to do with my daughter and I want it dealt with. So it's either you or I call in a priest to cover her in crosses and dunk her in holy water."

Raising his eyebrow at her description, Harry stated, "Okay, that certainly sounds like something up my alley. And you say that Lucy didn't seem upset about that fog thing? Are you sure that she saw it?"

"She was looking at it when it started reaching for her. She definitely saw it. What if that's why she talks to herself? It could have been after her or using her all this time. I want it gone so she can be just a normal girl and we can put all this weirdness behind us."

Giving her a soothing smile, he assured, "I'll do everything I can to find out what that thing was and to make sure that she's safe." When she seemed to calm down enough that he was no longer afraid that his floor would be gaining a new tea stain, he asked, "Do you think that this fog thing is centered more on your home or Lucy?"

"Her. Definitely her," she nodded. "She has those odd conversations everywhere, not just at home. There was a point where I was concerned about taking shopping for school because it would look like she was singing to a clothes rack."

"All right," he said carefully. "Do you think you could bring your daughter here so I can talk to her? Maybe try and get an idea of what I dealing with specifically?"

Biting her bottom lip and glancing at her watch, she replied, "I don't know if I'll be able to bring her myself. My shifts have been kind of crazy lately, but I can give her your address and have her stop by after school tomorrow if you want."

"How old is she?" he asked, concerned about a kid wandering around the city too much on her own.

"Nine, but she's always seemed to have a knack for taking care of herself. Probably because I don't always have the time I should to watch out for her properly," Mrs. Reynold admitted. "She likes to wander to junk stores and pawn shops to buy odd little trinkets with her allowance. I know that I should keep her from going out on her own like that and I worry about her getting kidnapped or worse when she does, but I'm not there enough to enforce those rules and by now it's just easier to let her do it. As long as she's careful and she makes it home on time, I generally let her go a few places by herself." Glancing at her watch again, she added, "And I'm sorry, but I have to head back. My break is over and I have a busy night ahead of me. I'll have her swing by tomorrow if that's all right with you. And, if you're able to help with all this," she set the cup on the edge of the desk and stood up, "and it actually works, I'll find way to pay whatever it takes. I figured out a way to cover the therapist and it didn't even help. I just want this fixed."

Part of him wanted to tell the woman not to worry about the bill too much. He didn't know what the problem would turn out to be or even if it would turn out to be magical in nature. Granted, strange fog shapes appearing in a child's room tended to sound more supernatural than scientific, but there was still a chance that it could have a normal explanation. It could easily be the product of a combination of an imaginative child, a worried parent, and a leaky steam pipe or something. It could easily be something that Murphy could understand. And even if it turned out to be magical in nature, he'd take the job regardless of whether or not she could pay. As he was almost constantly informed, Harry possessed a "stupid hero" streak that made it impossible for him to pass up the chance to help the damsel in distress.

On the other hand, he did have a strong desire to eat sometime this month and business had been slow. He needed the paycheck. Otherwise he'd probably start considering those tracking crystals as breakfast.

Maybe he could give her a discount at least.

"I'll be waiting to see her tomorrow then," he agreed, shaking her hand as Mrs. Reynold headed towards the door.

She gave him a slight smile as she left. It wasn't a completely confident one, but it was a smile. That was better than nothing.

As soon as Mrs. Reynold disappeared from sight, Harry headed towards his lab in search of answers. He might not have all the information yet and probably wouldn't until he could see the fog thing himself, but he at least could start on the research.

His lab, hidden behind a heavy-duty metal door with yet another protective symbol stamped across it, was where he kept all of his important research material and anything that would either be dangerous or unnerving for people if he left them in plain view. Of course, he tended to keep almost anything he might require spell-wise back there. He ended up with a large portion of his tools of the trade in that room. Thus, a big metal door was a smart investment. It would be resist to anything magical in nature that might try to get in because of the symbol, the fact that cold iron (and thus, steel) tended to disagree with several things that like to go bump in the night, and because thick metal usually slows down more mundane intruders and thieves as well. Add in the fact that the outside of the door was disguised to look like an ordinary wall and he was left with a secure and hidden location.

Of course, his best research tool in his lab wasn't so much a "tool" as it was a person. And by person, he meant a very old, grouchy ghost of a wizard bound to his own skull in punishment for messing with dark magic. And Harry wouldn't trade him for the world.

"Hey, Bob," he greeted as he stepped into the lab.

The white-haired man in the corner barely looked up from where he was drawing glowing symbols in the air. Dressed in dark and somber clothes, it was still very easy to forget that he wasn't solid unless the observer noticed that part of his sleeve was occasionally drifting through the bookshelf as he wrote. He looked exactly the same as the day Harry met him, back when he was a child about to live under his evil uncle's roof. Of course, since Hrothbert of Bainbridge was a bit of a mouthful for a kid, Harry quickly started working on converting the millennia old ghost to the concept of nicknames. Granted, he'd probably have preferred something a little more dignified than "Bob," but he'd accepted the name for what it was. Not a sign of disrespect, but one of affection.

Of course, when Justin occasionally used the name later on rather than just referring to him as "ghost," it was meant as some form of mockery towards the once powerful sorcerer. Harry just never truly realized that until after his uncle revealed his true colors and the confrontation turned slightly… self-defensively violent. He honestly missed out on a lot of things growing up. Between what his uncle didn't tell him and what Bob literally _couldn't_ tell him, Harry couldn't believe how ignorant he'd been.

Considering all his blood relatives were dead (and in Justin Morningway's case, _twice_), Bob was the only thing Harry could consider family that he had left. Of course, Bob was also dead, but he'd been dead when they met. So that wasn't as big an issue. He was used to having the grumpy, snarky ghost around and it was actually a little terrifying to imagine the world without him. He knew that for a fact because for a short time he nearly believed he did lose Bob permanently. But that was part of a very long and complicated story involving doppelgangers, the theft of a skull, and the resurrection of his long-dead evil relative, which was not something that was likely to happen a second time.

And it probably an indication about his odd life that such a thing happened in the first place.

"So am I to assume that you'll manage to pay the rent this month or have you decided to take on another charity case?"

"You know, for someone who lives inside their own skull and doesn't require the usual necessities, you seem awfully concerned about how much money I have," Harry remarked.

Turning away from his current project, Bob said dryly, "Please forgive me if I'm not that eager to join you in a cardboard box in the alleyway that you'll no doubt be inhabiting when the landlord kicks you out."

"But what if it's a _nice_ cardboard box?" he asked, earning a look from the old ghost.

He purposefully ignored the annoyed look of his cranky roommate and started copying down the glowing symbols onto a sheet of paper. It seemed like the polite thing to do since Bob couldn't record any of his writings in a more permanent way. Since all that hard work could be destroyed by someone (like the wizard who lived there) walking through the glowing symbols suspended in midair, copying them into a more solid format (also known as a pen and paper) was just practical.

Harry explained as he wrote, "There was a woman who is concerned about her daughter. She thinks there is something following her."

"And how old is the daughter exactly?"

"She's a little kid. She's about nine or something."

"Well, is the mother at least attractive and single?"

Rolling his eyes slightly, Harry remarked, "Can we drop the subject of my love life for the moment?"

"What love life?" asked Bob dryly. "You haven't heard from the waitress, Laura, in a while. Which is too bad since she had wonderful taste in foreign movies."

"Fine. Next time I see her, I'll ask her to bring another romantic film with subtitles. Can we get back to the issue at hand? Namely the little kid who might have some not-so-imaginary friends?"

"Very well. I assume you have a few more details than 'something following her'?"

Harry shrugged, "She said something about seeing a weird shape or fog that disappeared when she distracted the girl. She also said her daughter has been acting a little odd for years, which may or may not be connected."

"That could be any number of things," remarked the dead sorcerer. "It could be a wraith, an astral projection attempted by an amateur, a side effect of a few uncommon curses, certain types of púca, a particularly odd yaoguai, or maybe just an overly-concerned mother's imagination playing tricks on her. That's not much to go on."

"Not really," he admitted. "But she's coming over tomorrow. Maybe she can tell us more than her mother did."

"And we can see if there are any signs of something malevolent affecting the child," Bob nodded. "A few of the possibilities could be fairly problematic to deal with."

"Then let's hope Mrs. Reynolds is just overprotective."

* * *

He didn't know what to expect to see when the girl came through his door. Yes, her mother mentioned she was blond with blue eyes and that she was nine years old. But considering Scott Sharpe's reaction to being followed by "monsters" (who turned out to be guarding him), Harry was prepared for fear and anxiety. Instead, he was greeted by what was practically a cheerful bundle of sunshine that didn't seem worried about her situation as she approached.

Dressed in jeans, a purple t-shirt with a blue butterfly on it, and with her sandy-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, she appeared to be singing softly as she walked down the street until she spotted the sign. Then she tilted her head, glanced at the paper in her hands, and then shook her head tiredly. With a slight look of resignation appearing on her face, the blond child pushed the door open and quickly claimed the empty seat. The lack of reaction from his wards at her entrance was a promising start.

"Mom told me to come here after school," she said.

"You're Lucy Reynolds?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. And you're Mr. Dresden?"

And people complain about kids not having any manners these days.

"That's what the sign on the door says," he smirked.

"It also says you're a wizard."

He half-expected a question. Everyone asked. They always wanted to know if he was serious, if he was some kind of entertainer, or if he was crazy. Some people were too polite or desperate for help to ask out loud, but the question was always there. The ones who didn't were the ones who already knew the truth and were also usually trying to kill him. Just one of the perks of his job.

There was no question in her tone. Lucy was merely stating a fact. The word "wizard" was printed on the glass. And something in her steady gaze implied she was reserving judgment about whether or not he deserved that title. Harry didn't remember being that cynical about magic at that age. On the other hand, he did understand even at age nine that there was real magic and illusions such as his father performed, so he probably wasn't the best example of a child's belief. At least she wasn't automatically calling him a liar. That was more of a courtesy than he received from most adults.

"Your mom is a little worried about you," he said carefully.

"She's been worried a long time, Mr. Dresden. That's why she sent me to a therapist. Now she's scared," Lucy said, her eyes glancing around the room curiously. "I told her I'm fine. She doesn't believe me. She just doesn't understand."

"What doesn't she understand? That fog she saw? Is it a friend of yours?" he coaxed gently, hoping for answers while preparing to defend himself in case something nasty and dangerous that his wards didn't detect was somehow attached to her.

"Yes, she was a friend. But she wasn't the only one," she chuckled slightly. "Mom never knew about them or anything important. Not really. Mom didn't know about Dad's family. She doesn't know her family that well either. If she did, she wouldn't be scared. But she doesn't know and she doesn't see." The girl kicked her feet slightly as she sat in the chair, seeming both young and oddly mature. "Grandma could see, but not much. Dad died when I was a baby, but he could see even less. Now I'm the only one who sees and no one understands. Mom doesn't. My teachers don't. The therapist _really_ doesn't. You probably don't understand either. But if you just tell Mom that everything is safe, she'll pay you and she won't be scared anymore. Then everyone will be happy."

Wishing that the kid could be a _little_ less vague, Harry said, "Sorry. I can't tell your mom that everything is fine unless I know that for a fact."

"It isn't a lie, though," the girl remarked innocently.

"Then you won't mind if I double check before I tell her. After all, if your mom is going to pay me to make sure that there's nothing to be afraid of, I should at least do something first. That's fair, right?"

The blond girl gave him a rather suspicious look, one that suggested she was looking for the catch. It was a look that suggested she thought he was hiding something and it was only a question about whether or not she would regret it later. It was a look that he saw on Murphy often enough that he knew exactly what it meant.

"All right, Mr. Dresden," she said finally.

"Thank you," he nodded.

The fact his wards didn't react to the child suggested that she wasn't possessed by anything at the moment. But there were plenty of options that could be at work that didn't have to be constantly active on the girl and she'd more or less admitted that she'd encountered something sentient. Detecting outside influences on her mind and body due to past encounters with something dangerous would take a little longer, but it would be easier if he could narrow down what he was looking for. And examining her for residual evidence of an encounter with something that went bump in the night took experience to specifically identify. They'd already decided the evening before to have the expert offer his opinion.

Rather than coming through a wall, Bob walked through the doorway as if he was completely solid and normal. Harry figured that between him and the dead sorcerer, they would be able to determine what Lucy's mother saw. It should be easy enough, especially if the kid didn't do something problematic like walk through the intangible figure.

The kid, who had been alternating between looking at the wizard and her surroundings with equal concentration, focused instantly on Bob the moment he came into the room. There was an odd intensity in her gaze that seemed to catch the dead sorcerer's attention since he stopped his approach momentarily. For a second, Harry was afraid Bob accidentally went through a solid object and she'd noticed, but there was nothing even in his cluttered office space that could have been in the way. She just seemed to find Bob worth focusing on.

"You know it's kind of rude to stare," Harry couldn't help chuckling.

That got a reaction from the girl. Lucy's head snapped towards him, a look of confusion plastered across her face. Before, she seemed to feel in control of the situation and knew what to expect more or less. Now, she looked uncertain and actually seemed like a nine year old child.

"You can see him," she said slowly, glancing back at Bob with a frown.

"He is kind of standing in the middle of the room," nodded Harry, puzzled by her reaction. "He's kind of hard to miss, even when he's not complaining."

"Why are you surprised?" Bob asked, equally confused.

"Because you're a ghost," she answered simply.

And while that answered some questions, it raised even more. The biggest one, however, was how in the world the kid figured that out in under a minute of seeing Bob. He looked normal, more or less. He wasn't doing anything that would suggest his less-than-alive nature.

"How do you know that?" Harry found himself asking.

Lucy shrugged, "Because I do. I can tell. It was harder to tell the difference when I was little, but now I can tell who's a ghost just by seeing them. But most people don't see them, even when they're right in front of them. Only when they want to be seen will other people notice them. That's how it works. Everyone else can't see them most of the time. Even Grandma needed to work at it to see them. I always see them, though."

There were a few more puzzle pieces. All that was missing was Haley Joel Osment saying his famous line. She apparently saw ghosts, even those that no one else would notice. No wonder her mother put her in therapy.

"Well, I'm not quite a normal ghost. Anyone can see me when I'm out, but they just can't touch," Bob admitted. "I don't suppose you've heard the term 'ectomancer' before, have you?"

Smiling brightly, Lucy nodded, "That would be Dad's side of the family. Though Grandma said they'd been getting weaker with each generation. She said Dad could barely summon up a ghost on a good day."

Ectomancer. A group of wizards with a very narrow specialization. They could talk to and summon ghosts. They couldn't pull souls back from the Other Side and/or restore those souls to life. That's the sort of thing that led to a guy being killed and cursed to haunt their own skull for a few centuries. And they couldn't force the dead to do something, like rise from the grave as an undead army. But an ectomancer could see, hear, summon, and generally deal with ghosts more effectively than anyone else. They were sort of like the mediums that showed up on television, promising to get in contact with your Great-Aunt Sophie and ask where her pearl earrings are hidden. In fact, some ectomancers made a living with that sort of thing. The big difference between an ectomancer and more general wizard is that while a normal wizard could occasionally compel a ghost to reveal themselves (or get practically knocked out by a teenage ghost intent on making sure her body-jumping murderer was stopped), an ectomancer would be the kind of person who was great in a haunted house and useless for any other form of magic.

"So the fog thing your mom saw was a ghost," Harry said.

The girl nodded, "Ms. Harris was visiting. She's really nice, even if she did date that mobster when she was alive. She was teaching me a new song. I didn't think Mom would come in right then. I didn't mean to scare her."

"There we go. One mystery solved without anything trying to kill me in the process," grinned Harry.

"A true miracle," remarked the dead sorcerer dryly.

Rolling his eyes, he said, "At least Mrs. Reynolds doesn't have anything to worry about."

"Yes, her daughter is merely haunted by all the ghosts of Chicago. I'm sure that's reassuring for any mother to hear."

"Bob, can you at least let me enjoy this nice and straightforward mystery? How often do I get through something like this without even a bruise?"

"If you were a little more cautious and used some sense when dealing with a problem, it would happen more often. Not to mention that your eternal 'white knight' tendencies usually lead you to charging straight into danger. You really have no one to blame for your suffering except yourself."

"You sound like Mr. Grant and Mr. Kilburn," commented Lucy abruptly. "They live together in the apartment downstairs from where me and Mom live. They're nice, but they argue with each other like that sometimes."

And that officially ended that particular discussion. Harry decided to turn his attention back to the matter at hand. Specifically, the fact that the little kid clearly had magic. Even if she didn't have a lot of variety with her power, it was probably a smart idea to find out what she knew how to do before she started summoning ghosts to haunt her classmates or something.

"You said your grandmother on your father's side was also an ectomancer, even if she wasn't very strong at it," he said. "Did she teach you very much before she died? Or is she _still_ teaching you…?"

Lucy shook her head, "Grandma isn't a ghost. But she did try to teach me a few things before she died. She was surprised I could see ghosts all the time since no one in the Saberhagen family has been able to do that in a long time. That was her last name before she got married. Saberhagen. And she said that even those who could see ghosts all the time didn't start until they were older. She taught me about ghosts and magic and everything anyway. But it wasn't easy because I couldn't do magic the normal way."

"What do you mean?" asked Bob, frowning.

"I couldn't use spells or draw runes or make magic stuff to use or anything like that. It didn't work. But Grandma figured out why and that fixed it."

He knew there were variations in how to perform magic. Different people might approach it in different ways or with different ideas of how to accomplish a specific task. No two people were exactly alike, after all. And he knew that different cultures developed different techniques for manipulating magic. Bob made certain Harry knew at least a little about most of them while he was growing up. But most wizards could eventually adapt somewhat to new methods.

"Why didn't it work?" asked Harry.

"Because of Mom's side of the family."

The girl was apparently determined to make them pull the answers out of her. Maybe it was from years of not having anyone she could talk about this with or maybe she thought it was funny. Either way, the blond child was perfectly happy sitting in the chair providing short answers to their questions that did very little to clarify what she meant. Harry was seriously beginning to reconsider his discount idea.

"What about your mother's side of the family?" the dead sorcerer asked.

Grinning briefly towards the ghost, Lucy explained, "Mom doesn't know. It happened a really, really, really long time ago and no one told her because it barely affects her. She's tone deaf and didn't even like singing lullabies when I was little. So she doesn't know and no one told her about Dad either because he wasn't much of an ectomancer. But he probably knew about her."

The girl leaned forward in her seat. The previous serious and suspicious demeanor was completely gone. This was the child he observed outside, cheerful and excited. She apparently liked having people who believed her and understood what she was talking about.

"One of my grandfathers with a lot of greats, like maybe six or more, was a sailor. His boat went somewhere he shouldn't have and the crew ran into a flock of something beautiful and dangerous. They found sirens and heard their singing, which caused them to crash on the rocks."

Harry had heard stories about sirens. Able to shift between the shape of a beautiful woman and another shape that combined both human and bird features together, their singing would draw men towards them, force men to obey their whims, and usually cause the men's ultimate demise. If they liked a guy enough, they might keep him alive long enough to mate. Which was something plenty of men would do even without the magically-compelling song. The guy still ended up dead and if the siren had a son, they drowned the baby. Daughters always ended up as sirens. And thus the circle of life began again as the new sirens sang men to their doom.

"One of the really liked my many-greats-grandpa, so she took him far away from her sisters and married him. They had a son, but she kept him even though he was human. And he grew up and had kids with a nice human. The girls weren't sirens because their parents were human, but they could still do magic by singing. They could hold someone's attention, make the listener fall asleep, and even make them more likely to follow instruction. But each girl had less and less siren-singing power. Mom doesn't even know she has any."

"So you are from a line of increasingly-powerless ectomancers on one side and increasingly-powerless siren descendants on the other," remarked Bob slowly. "Mixing the very different magical potential, one of human origin and one decidedly not human, would certainly produce unpredictable results. Insanity, hazardous effects on the physical body, or a complete lack of powers are possibilities, but there are some cases where the outcome is less dire. The diluted nature of magic on both sides of your family likely prevented a more aggressive result from your heritage. Though it could be responsible for why your powers began to develop so young and it obviously strengthened your connection with ghosts considering your comments about your grandmother's abilities."

"Sort of. I can't summon ghosts. I've tried different things, but it doesn't work. So I have to go out and look for them if I want to talk to someone specific. But I can do something else that Grandma couldn't. She didn't even think it was possible, but it helps a lot sometimes. And she said it shouldn't break any of the laws that the wizard boss people made."

"You mean the High Council?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, them," she nodded.

The kid knowing about the High Council, even vaguely, and the laws concerning magic was a good thing. He'd hate for the girl to do something dumb that would cause her to use black magic. Anyone who used magic that dealt with dead souls needed to be careful. It would be easier for them to mess with two major laws, the one that said not to enthrall people (even dead people) and the one that said not to go pulling dead souls back across to bring them to life. As long as Lucy didn't go bothering those rules and knew not to mess with the High Council, everyone would be happy.

"All right. What exactly can you do that impressed your grandmother so much?" he asked.

"I can sing to them and make them more or less ghostly."

The girl apparently recognized immediately that her explanation was a little less than helpful. For a moment, she glanced back around the office space before snatching up one of newly-arrived tracking crystals off the desk.

"Is this important?" she asked quickly.

"Why?" asked Harry suspiciously.

"Because I can't explain it easily and I'm borrowing this to show you," answered the girl.

Exchanging a glance with Bob, who seemed equally confused with what she was up to, the wizard gestured at her to proceed. Lucy scooted off the chair and frowned thoughtfully. Then she turned towards the ghost.

"Were you a wizard too? Like Mr. Dresden?" she asked.

"I was far less likely to dive headfirst into danger without thinking things through due to an overdeveloped hero complex," remarked Bob. "That unique flaw is completely Harry's problem. But essentially, yes."

"Okay," nodded the girl.

Harry watched her carefully, wondering what she planned to do. At first, she just stood there. Then she began to sing.

"_Do you believe in magic?_

_In a young girl's heart_

_How the music can free her_

_Whenever it starts._"

The first thing that struck him was that she had perfect pitch. He wasn't a music expert, but he could tell that every note was exactly what it should sound like. There were probably professional singers who couldn't match her exactly. It was probably a side-effect of siren heritage. Her ancestors were probably the pop stars of their time periods.

"_And it's magic_

_If the music is groovy_

_It makes you feel happy like an old time movie_."

The second thing that he noticed was there was power in her voice. There was just as much magic in each note as there was in one of his potions or a blast of fire from his hockey stick. It was a pleasant and calming sensation that was as nice as the music itself. And even if her talent for singing was undoubtedly connected to her siren heritage, there was no feeling of compulsion or manipulation to it.

"_I'll tell ya about the magic_

_It'll free your soul_

_But it's like trying to tell about rock'n'roll_."

There was, however, a sensation of soothing that reminded him of a lullaby. There was a feeling that the magic was trying calm and comfort, but he wasn't the intended recipient and the power just drifted by him without affecting the wizard.

"_If you believe in magic_

_Don't bother to choose_

_If it's jug band music or rhythm and blues_."

That was when he looked at Bob and nearly yelped. After so many years spent around the dead sorcerer, Harry knew what was normal in regards to his friend. And what he was seeing at the moment wasn't normal. Bob was… too ghostly.

"_Just go and listen_

_It'll start with a smile_

_It won't wipe off your face no matter how you try_."

He could see through Bob. That wasn't normal. He was translucent enough that Harry could make out the rest of the room behind him without any difficulties. And there was an odd expression on his face, one that didn't belong on his cranky roommate. He looked relaxed, vaguely confused, and completely unfocused. Harry wasn't even certain if the ghost even saw him anymore or any of his surroundings. It was as if he was watching his oldest friend fade away. And that was a little terrifying to contemplate.

"_Your feet start tapping_

_And you can't seem to find_

_How you got there, so just blow your mind_."

The song abruptly changed. No, the magic behind her singing changed. The tempo, pitch, and melody remained exactly the same, but the power in her voice shifted. No longer did it feel soothing and calming. Instead, there was a sensation of alertness and encouragement. It was more energizing than before.

"_If you believe in magic_

_Come along with me_

_We'll dance until morning, just you and me_."

This time he was watching for it and saw the girl's song affect Bob. The transparency reversed and he began to look like his old self again, frowning slightly as his eyes lost that unfocused quality.

"That was mildly unsettling," the dead sorcerer commented.

Lucy was still singing, but the small smile on her face suggested that she wasn't quite finished with her demonstration yet.

"_And maybe, if the music is right_

_I'll meet ya tomorrow_

_So late at night._"

The girl glanced down at the crystal in her hand, turning it slightly in her grip. Harry was beginning to seriously wonder what she had in mind. If she could pull off the near-disappearing act with Bob by singing one way, what was she doing with her new singing style? And what did the crystal have to do with it?

"_We'll go dancing, baby_

_Then you'll see_

_All the magic's in the music and the music's in me. Yeah!_"

Then she threw the crystal without even pausing in her singing. It wasn't a hard throw, just a quick toss.

…And then it bounced off Bob.

The sheer impossibility of what he just saw completely staggered Harry. He knew his face had to be mirroring the flabbergasted one he could now see on the ghost. It took every shred of willpower he possessed not to use some rather inappropriate language in front of the singing child (who now wore a rather proud smile on her face).

"_Do you believe in magic? Yeah!_

_Believe in the magic of a young girl's soul_

_Believe in the magic of rock'n'roll_

_Believe in the magic that can set you free_

_Ohhh, talking about magic_."

Harry wasn't sure which one of them reached out first, but he found himself grasping his long-dead teacher's hand. And while it might bring back some rather unpleasant memories of the last time (the only other time) he managed to have physical contact with Bob (thanks again, Uncle Justin, for making him watch his oldest friend die for a second time), Harry was kind of happy for the opportunity. He could only imagine how shocking it was for the old ghost to be solid, to be able to reach out and touch the world even a little.

"_Do you believe like I believe?_

_Do you believe in magic?_"

So what if the kid couldn't summon ghosts like her grandmother and most ectomancer could? This was still impressive. Not to mention Harry would have traded half the content of his lab to see the look on Bob's face at finally being able to have physical human contact.

"_Do you believe like I believe?_

_Do you believe in magic?_"

The power from her singing remained for a few seconds after the last note of the song faded away. Then the solid hand in his grip faded, leaving the creepy cold and tingling sensation of touching a ghost. He saw Bob try to hide the disappointment of losing that moment of tangibility. But Harry knew his friend. And Harry also knew that he would need to find a way to have Lucy sing like that again.

Trying to keep his voice steady, the wizard asked slowly, "What was that?"

"Different ghosts have different traits. Some can touch or affect real objects. Some can be seen by normal people, at least sometimes. Some can decide to do things and _not_ just exist in a weird loop of the past. Some can see and notice other people. Some can realize they are dead. And some can understand what they need to do in order to move on," she said carefully. "Different ghosts have different numbers of those traits. If I sing the right way, I can… strengthen or weaken them? Help them move up or down the scale? I don't know. It's hard to explain. They get more of those qualities if I sing one way, but they lose them when I sing the other way. The more of those traits they have, the more they seem like they did when they were alive."

"And that's why Bob turned solid for a little while. You… supercharged him enough that he could interact with the real world," Harry stated.

She nodded, "It helps sometimes. If a ghost is too confused to realize they're dead, I can sing to them enough for them to notice their surroundings and to figure it out. And that helps some of them move on. But others don't want to leave and they're too dangerous to stay, so I have to sing the other way. If you weaken a normal ghost enough, if they lose all those things I mentioned, they'll just go where they're supposed to. But I don't like making them move on that way. Sometimes they have good reasons to stay and Grandma said we're supposed to help those who need it, not just boss them around and make them do stuff they don't want to."

"And it only works while you are singing," said Bob, the faint unsteadiness in his voice easy enough to purposefully ignore.

"Yep. But I can sing a long, long time if I want to. And it'll still work even if I sing the same song over and over."

"Why _did_ you pick that song?" Harry asked.

"Well, I can make it work with any song, but it's harder to do if the song doesn't match the ghost. He was a wizard, right? So I picked a song about magic. If I used a love song on a ghost who lived alone and never fell in love, it wouldn't work very well. But if used 'Old MacDonald' for someone who used to be a farmer, it would work great. Especially if his name _was_ Mr. MacDonald." She paused a moment before adding, "And I thought you'd both like it better than 'Bibbidi-Bobbidy-Boo.'"

Harry couldn't help chuckling at that, "I don't know. I could imagine Bob in that blue hood and wand combo from the movie."

"Does that make you Cinderella in this scenario?" asked the ghost dryly, the slight smirk a reassuring sight to his friend. "And who would your Prince Charming be?"

"I guess we'll find that out when someone shows up at our doorstep with a glass slipper for me."

"So what are you going to tell my mom?" Lucy asked, tilting her head.

Harry didn't even hesitate. He knew exactly what he planned to do. It was probably stupidly impulsive, but he was rather good at those types of decisions.

"I'm going to tell her that there is absolutely nothing to worry about regarding what she saw, that she doesn't need to keep sending you to therapy, and that you should visit us more often so we can see if there are any important lessons your grandma missed out on."

Hey, he was planning to keep an eye on Scott as he got older and his magic started developing anyway. Why not add a musical ectomancer to the mix?

"And he'll tell her that she can pay Harry in cash or a check," added Bob.

Of course he remembered that detail. He wouldn't be his favorite, cranky, cursed dead sorcerer otherwise. But that didn't diminish the glimmer of enthusiasm Harry saw at the idea of having someone around who could make him tangible, even temporarily. And after about a millennia of not being able to touch the world around him, he deserved it.

**Someday, this story might be expanded. But I make no promises. For now, I just wanted to play with these characters a little and expand some possibilities for this world. I hope you found it at least a little enjoyable.**


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